


I'll be your favorite drug, I will get you high

by marsellia_rose



Series: The world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks [7]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Ray-centric, Relationship is only if you squint, Roses, Snipers, now you get to find out why ray got murdered at a rest stop, ray likes roses, red assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsellia_rose/pseuds/marsellia_rose
Summary: Ray was too young when he started. But New York City was harsh and cold, and it was a very lucrative business.And he hadn’t realized how much it’d be like a video game. How very easy it’d be to kill a man.Ray's backstory for Immortal Fake AH Crew au.





	I'll be your favorite drug, I will get you high

**Author's Note:**

> I rewrote Ryan's chapter, which you all should go read. Title comes from Fall Out Boy's Death Valley.

He was too young.

By fourteen he knew way too much about the world and how shitty it could be. His dad was an alcoholic, his mom worked too much, and this was New York City. Things happened. People grew up far faster than they should.

He was sixteen when his dad died. He couldn’t really say he was surprised, not with the way his dad ran his mouth when he was drunk.

He mourned him, a bit, but he’d been bracing himself for this for years now. It wasn’t unexpected. 

What was unexpected was the package he received in the mail- to be delivered to him at his dad’s passing. Inside were dog tags, a letter, and a sniper rifle. Not really what he’d expected from his dad.

The letter basically talked about his dad’s past. What he’d done, his military service, and how sorry he was.

Clearly his dad had expected to die, too. No surprise there.

He thought about selling the gun. It’d probably bring in a decent amount of money, and they always could use more cash. 

But some weird, dumb, sentimental part of him just let it sit in the corner in his room for weeks instead. 

He liked guns. He played video games, before, back when he’d still had an Xbox- he’d sold that, eventually, so that they could have enough money for food- and he’d always had steady hands. 

Maybe that’s how it occurred. 

Or maybe he was just getting bored. 

Whatever it was, it started something he never could have imagined. He’d never killed someone before- how could he know that he’d become one of the most avid assassin’s in New York City?

He was sixteen. Already used to having to steal food to survive, with shaky hands as he walked down dangerous streets. They were starving, he and his mom, and would’ve ended up on the street soon.

Ad so Ray started looking for work again- only this time, he started looking in the more dangerous parts of town. And eventually he found someone who was willing to give him a contract, someone who didn’t care how young he looked or that he had no name to go by. And that was when he realized how very lucrative this business was, when he offered to kill someone for what he thought was $30 and got 30 grand instead.

He also hadn’t realized how much it’d be like a video game. How very easy it’d be to kill a man.

It wasn’t till a couple hours after he did it that he threw up, realizing just how not guilty he felt about killing that man. 

And that’s when he realized he’d need a name, and a costume. A persona, of sorts, to protect himself and his mother. 

So he bought a suit and a half-face mask. He didn’t have a name, yet, but at least he had a look. 

He had five more kills under his belt before he decided on a name. The Red Assassin. He’d always liked roses, and had recently been advised to have a calling card. Roses, then. The Red Assassin. It was a name that fit the look- he bought a red silk pocket square to go in his suit.

He moved his mom out of the city, and into the suburbs. Told her she’d never have to work again. She didn’t ask what he was doing to make all this money. He bought her a cat, too, so she’d have company.

He bought himself an apartment. In the heart of the city, where he was surrounded by his workplace.

That’s when he decided to by a new gun. This was his work, and he needed to have the most cutting edge weaponry. He did a bit of research, before he went to see a man named Marcus. Marcus was an artist, of sorts. Custom guns, all with a unique look. Ray bought a beautiful new sniper, black ebony with garnet inlay going up the sides in small detailed roses. A custom diamond scope, clearest he could get, and a hairline trigger. 

He bought himself more suits, too, velvet and satin, and always kept roses in his apartment. 

He made so much money from this job. He didn’t want for anything.

He started to get lonely. 

His work sort of isolated him from everyone else. His apartment didn’t really feel very home-y- there were no pictures, no personal objects or items that showed signs of life. 

It was bare, like the way he felt inside. Hollow, with no real life. He worked. And his work kept him from making any real close bonds. What could he tell people, about what he did and where his money came from? How could he explain how little of his time his work actually took up? 

But he continued on. It was good enough work- he liked his job. He was good at his job. He was discreet and efficient, and had earned quite a reputation for himself. He was who you went to when you wanted a quick and clean death, with no possible loose ends. 

He never asked unnecessary questions about the jobs he worked. He asked only what he needed to know to get it done. He didn’t need to know these people, and if they occasionally ended up on the news he just tuned it out.

Until he couldn’t anymore. He was sitting in a coffee shop, reading over the classified adds in the paper and waiting for a call for his next meetup, when he heard the news.

“Kathleen Zeulch, aged 36…”

That was his last mark. He tried to tune out, but caught one last word before he did.

“…pregnant…”

Pregnant. He had rules, see. A code. No kids. No big political figures- the sort that would get FBI called on him.

No pregnant women. 

Someone lied to him. Someone gave his false information to get him to kill a pregnant woman. He was angry, but more than that he was upset. He should have known. This job had seemed off from the start, but he’d taken it anyway because the pay was so good. He should have asked more questions. He should have…he shouldn’t have taken this job.

And now. Who was he without his rules, his boundaries. Those were what had separated him from the common criminals, and now he didn’t even have that. 

He hated it. And he hated learning that Kathleen Zeulch was the niece of the mayor, and he hated seeing her constantly on the news, and he hated being constantly reminded of his mistake. It didn’t matter than no one else knew, or cared. He knew. And he cared.

He felt like his name had been tainted. He still liked the killing, but it no longer felt right- it felt like he’d betrayed some fundamental part of what his name meant, what it was supposed to be. 

Everything the Red Assassin was felt like a lie. He’d killed before without remorse. He could just turn off the part of his brain that made him care about people.

But he would remember. This city was where he’d been naïve enough to think that he could work as an assassin, without ever asking questions, and not be compromised. 

That’s why he decided it was time to move on. He couldn’t stay here, so he sold his apartment and decommissioned the Red Assassin. He gave his mom a hefty sum of money, kissed her goodbye, and got a bus ticket, not super sure where he was going yet.

It wasn’t until he ended up close to the middle of the country that he decided he wanted to go to Los Santos. He’d always lived in the city, and he couldn’t really imagine any other lifestyle. 

Of course, then he got off the bus at a rest stop, took too long, and the bus left him behind. And while he had a large sum of money- stuffed down his pants, the perfect hiding spot- he was in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone signal and no idea where the nearest town was. So he sat and waited for a car to come by, who he would hopefully be able to pay, in return for a ride. 

Only people kept not coming. And not coming, and not coming, and then he dozed off.

He woke up to being pummeled alive by some dude, and then there was a knife and then the nothingness.

And then he was waking up, and everything hurt a little bit, and there was a nervously angry looking man hovering over him.

“Fu….oh, hi.” Ray blinked lazily at the young man. “Fuck, man.” He rubbed his head, sitting up.

“I didn’t rob you.” The man felt the need to say. “You were like this when I found you.”

“Wha…oh, I know.” Ray nodded. “Made the mistake of stopping off here, and the bus left without me. Got jumped a coupla hours later.” He rubbed his eyes, looking at the man blearily, wondering how he could possibly have survived a knife in the gut without any blood around him. “Ray.”

“Michael.” Michael paused, for a moment, before continuing. “You…you were dead a couple of seconds ago. Like fucking, honest to god dead. No pulse, and all that shit.” 

“No shit.” Ray honestly couldn’t even say he was surprised. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t that weird, given everything else in his life. He sighed. “Just my luck that I can’t even die.”

“…I can’t, either.” Ray found himself believing Michael.

Ray raised an eyebrow at him. “Damn, okay.” He stood up, brushing off his pants. “Where’re you headed, Michael?”

“I…don’t know.” Michael shook his head. “You?”

“Los Santos. Wanna come?” Ray grinned at him. 

“Sure. Why the fuck not.” Michael nodded. “How the fuck are you planning on getting there.” 

Ray grinned again, before reaching down his pants and pulling out a wad of cash. “They’ll never check your underwear. Too gay for them.”

Eventually someone did come by, and they caught a ride to the nearest town, where they bought a junk car and drove their way across the country. 

They got an apartment together using Ray’s savings. And then Ray went to work. He got more guns, took on the name Brownman, and started taking jobs.

He got a reputation for being who you call when shit hits the fan. 

It was good work. He took care of other people’s problems, but all the people he killed were objectively bad people. They were gangsters and mercenaries in their own right- never anyone he needed to feel guilty for killing.

Michael started working, too. He had developed a certain set of skills working for the Family. He was a wild card, an explosive personality with a violent skillset. He took on the name Mogar.

He worked for whoever wanted him. He built a name for himself, got pretty infamous within the precinct. 

Life was, realistically, pretty good. They had a steady flow of cash, and they were happy, both together, and to be working. Their apartment was decently nice, and well protected, and they would have been happy to just continue working like this. 

They did continue working for quite some time before anyone took notice of them. But eventually someone did.

Jack noticed. And so he brought them to Geoff. 

Geoff immediately wanted them. They were useful, fascinating, and just what his team needed. He wanted to retake Los Santos, to fill the shoes of the dynasty before them- the Roosters. He had a right had man- Jack- and a lovely tech genius who was quick with a gun. Gavin Free. The British golden boy, and the bane of Michael’s existence from the instant they met.

Ray liked him, though, liked everything that Geoff wanted to become. And he thought maybe having a team would do both him and Michael some good- keep them on the right path, so to speak. 

So they eventually joined. And three became five.

**Author's Note:**

> Geoff- and an explanation of the Roosters- is up next. Then I have a couple of different oneshots planned out, including an explanation for how Ryan died.


End file.
